Economics and Mathematics
by I'm Nova
Summary: Wondering about the final problem's subject. Odd little two-shot. Seb is meant to be Moran. Betaed by Ennui Enigma, my saviour.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: nothing is mine (well, I do share Jim's opinion on politics). I just take with them the same liberties Moffat took on Conan Doyle's creations. I didn't pay to buy the rights though (and make no money from this). I wonder who's wiser?

Economics

"Do you reckon he knows exactly when he lost – nay,_ forfeited_ this game, Seb?" Jim looked up from his phone at his colonel. Another teasing text just sent, no doubt.

"I suspect he still thinks he can win," his lover replied dispassionately.

"Right! So _amusing_, isn't he?" Moriarty exclaimed, clapping once. When he was hyper, interesting things tended to happen.

"When did he, by the way?" Sebastian asked airily. He'd learned the hard way not to claim the prey he hadn't killed yet. But Jim was so much more that he could be allowed to...probably.

"But at the pool, silly!" Jim gave his companion a sharp look that added, 'Do I have to explain? Really?'.

"If that's so, why drag it out till now?" Sebastian wondered. Hell, they could have been through with all this months ago! He thought this was just Jim's pet project, but did he have to get truly jealous and enforce the point that he didn't share?

"Come on, tiger, you're not the only one here with a feline attitude. It's play. And he's the best toy I've ever had," Jim said, rubbing against his lover, much like an affectionate cat.

"The best?" the man rumbled darkly.

"Toy. Do focus, Seb!" the mastermind reproached, poking him sharply with a manicured finger.

"Ok. You explain how he forfeited and I won't complain, however long you keep the game going. And I'll reward you handsomely later," the sniper replied. Christ, only Jim could make him use such words instead of 'shag you six ways to Sunday'!

"Well, for that I'd give you a whole master's thesis," Jim agreed with a smirk. "It all comes down to simple economics. Last time, I kept upping the ante every round of the game, until I finally caught Sherlock's pet. I wasn't sure how much the doctor was worth, logically, and the show was for the exact purpose of determining his value. Sherly would try to buy his live-in's life back...or not," Moriarty recalled, with a fond expression at that last prospect. It hadn't happened, but how he would have loved it if it did, even if, nay, because, it made the game exponentially harder.

"I even made sure Sherly had something to bargain with. It wouldn't do if he had nothing to offer in exchange, hence my 'targeting' the missile plans. I expected to work my way up to them. That he'd offer something else first, like not turning me in to the Yard. Then, you were supposed to come into play and make him realize he was trapped and needed to do better than that," he continued.

Sebastian had been there, but he hadn't even started to figure out Jim's plans and how many variables his lover was accounting for at the time. Well, he and his croonies just had to keep the red dots steady to ensure Jim would come out on top.

"And what does Sherlock "I'm too posh to have needed to bargain before" Holmes do? He cuts off the chase when the chase was the point. He gives up! So now it's clear just how much his pet is worth. He'd betray Queen and country and let me unleash a war or two to save the man. Instead of trying to keep his composure, he should have simply begged 'anything but John'. It's not like he fooled anyone there. I'll up the ante again, but really...strictly speaking, I do not need to. Repeats are so unbearable," he stated with a languid wave of his hand. He'd have looked much like a professor, if his contempt for his enemy/toy/prey hadn't tainted his words.

"Who are you playing with, Jim?" Sebastian inquired suddenly. "If Sherlock has already forfeited, you should have lost interest a long time ago and let me clean up. Who exactly is this game against? I can't work properly if I don't know that."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you!" Moriarty purred and continued, "well that and your perfect aim. Even my little toy hasn't realised what you've just noticed. Sherly may have forfeited the game...but Iceman? He's great at economics. Obviously, he's an expert in politics, which are a subset of that, aren't they? I'll win that game too!" Jim promised, enthused, jumping up to hug his lover.

"Sure," Sebastian agreed, steering him unsubtly towards a more adequate place for his reward.


	2. Chapter 2

_A.N. Forgive the abuse of brackets; they popped up by themselves, I swear. _

_Disclaimer: nothing is mine (yet)._

Mathematics

It's one of these empty days, during the Hiatus (hiatus; because he's definitely going back home – back to John), when he's waiting for information on the current branch of the late Moriarty's network. He can't work without data, after all. Sherlock's mind replays the whole mad game that brought him to this point.

Getting to know he had a fan who sponsored serial killers (and people wondered why he was annoyed by the press...he didn't need more fans, thank you). Five pips and trips down memory lane (and to the basement). The pool and its one-second of pure anguish (because John _couldn't_ be Moriarty), so much so that the panic afterwards tasted like relief. The Woman and discovering Moriarty was still interested in 'the Holmes boys' (Mycroft could keep him, if he liked). And this last round, with all the teasing, feeling the net inexorably close around himself, with each hint at 'pressure points' and 'I O U' and fairy tales... That's when the sleuth realizes something (silly it might be, but he has to entertain himself and drugs are now out of question). Moriarty failed.

No, not because he's dead while Sherlock is alive. Well, he should be dead; at the very least, he was hurt seriously enough that there was no way to extract from him the code to call the snipers off in time. Technically, he could be in a coma somewhere, but Sherlock doubts Jim would like that at all. His own continued survival is a fluke, due entirely to a wild card in a lab coat. After all the times he had hurt her (unwittingly, always) Sherlock wouldn't have been surprised if she offered an extra push, instead of help.

No, Jim failed by his own standards. 'Fairytale villain'? Sure, Sherlock has deleted every fairytale that had been read to him. But the general setting of his final problem was supposed to be one of those 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situations. Sherlock is reasonably sure of this fact.

A physics problem, with the conflicting forces of self-preservation (with his arrogance to back it up) and whatever selflessness (and affection, can he admit to that?) he possesses meant to lacerate him like Sinis' pine trees (he has deleted most literature, but the Greek myths have so many original murders that he keeps them as reference; criminals should find them inspirational).

But conflicted is the only thing Sherlock wasn't (wouldn't be), even with the certainty of death awaiting on that roof. Scared? Considering the situation, he had some right to be, he reckons. At least, a little. He's still only a human, whatever everyone else might think. Sad? Of course, he was leaving John (could have left him forever),_ hurting_ John (sorry, it was inevitable – really). Conflicted? Never.

Because it wasn't a physics problem (the one it was meant to be). It was a _mathematics_ problem. One or four. A choice so easy it wasn't a choice at all. Four: that's what Moriarty didn't realize – what made his whole elaborate scheme ultimately fail at its purpose. Never only _three_ bullets (for the three people in the world that amazingly found Sherlock somehow tolerable) halted – or not – by Sherlock's own fall.

Sherlock wouldn't have survived those deaths. It's not like it sounds (if he were to talk aloud), nothing ridiculous like dying of a broken heart because; a) real hearts can't break; and b) he has no metaphorical heart. To be completely exact, his metaphorical heart (which has a full name, and a degree to boot) would already be gone in such a hypothetical situation. Years past have clearly proved that Sherlock can and will survive without one anyway.

But the whole point of becoming a consultant detective was to exploit his overgrown, relentless brain to _help_ . If he closed the cases for Lestrade (Dimmock, Gregson, Hopkins, Jones...) the crimes would stop. Nobody would get hurt (killed, kidnapped...whatever) anymore. He was very careful to keep cold when faced with any additional victims found between his accepting the case and its resolution, even when he was shunned for it. He always gave his all, and agonizing over it not being enough to save them wouldn't benefit anyone (as he tried to explain to John). It would be counterproductive (he didn't say: wasn't it obvious?). It was better for everyone to just accept new data and use it.

That day, though...he_ could_ help it. He could save them all with a single step over the ledge. If he had refused, he would have become as guilty as the snipers, or as Moriarty.

Donovan would have been right. There would have been corpses, and it'd be his fault.

Donovan. Right. Words that did not belong in the same sentence. Just like John and dead. No, these last two were even more (absolutely, totally, _ontologically_) incompatible. Sherlock so hates grammar mistakes. Making four of them (because Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, too, can't be in the same sentence with dead...not for twenty years at the very least) with a single act is unthinkable. Surviving the poisoned knowledge that his choice killed Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson – _John_ (he might as well have pulled the trigger himself, in such a speculation's perspective) would have been unimaginable. His mind palace would have crumbled like a house of cards. Extended damage, only option degaussing of the hard drive. Rocket finally exploded. He can't even run the simulation for long. He has to hack Mycroft's cameras afterwards, to make absolutely sure the simulation is a simulation. Thanks to the non-existent god(s), everyone is as well as can be expected.

One or four. Not much of a dilemma, is it? Really, shouldn't villains with literary (however low) aspirations be able to do better?

_ P.S. For the technologically challenged like me: Degaussing is the process of decreasing or eliminating a remnant magnetic field. For certain forms of computer data storage, however, such as modern hard drives and some tape backup drives, degaussing renders the magnetic media completely unusable and damages the storage system. _

_For the mythologically curious: a teenager Theseus left his mother (Aethra)'s house in Troezen to go meet his father Aegeus in Athens. Along the way, he met and disposed of a few bandits with interesting modus operandi. Among them was Sinis: he bent two pine trees to the ground, tied up unfortunate travellers to both and then let the pines go. His victims were obviously torn apart. Laborious way of mugging someone, uh? Teen Theseus gave him a taste of his own medicine. Then he proceeded to have sex with Sinis' daughter – they had a child too. Well, such are Greek myths._


End file.
